Snail Shell
by contrecoup
Summary: Old-Onceler fluff. Let's see, Ted brought him fifteen cents, a nail, and a...what was that last one?


With an enveloping "poof", like the air being forced out of a mattress, Ted disappeared into the thick cloud of smogulous smoke. In less than a moment, all the Once-ler could make of him was his flickering headlight whipping through the darkness, before it winked out just as quickly.

"Hhrmph..." he sniffed, peeking outside his Lerkim through slits in the boards of his window. Grumbling thoughts puttered around at the back of his mind while he watched the smoke settle back to the ground, whipped up behind him in plumes by the boy's scooter.

The boy better find his way back alright, he snarled.

_He_ sure as heck wasn't gonna feel guilty if some poor love-stricken sap lost his way.

Wasn't like he asked him to come all the way out here anyway. Wasn't like _he_ told the boy to risk his life to come ask him about trees.

Feh.

Nope, nope. It wouldn't be on _his_ conscience if the boy made a mistake getting home. Took a wrong turn. Ended up some circling birds' fancy dinner. No~ooo sir...

And that was that, he sniffed.

Something glistened as he turned to retreat back into his Lerkim. Cocking a brow, he moved his head back and forth, testing to see if it'd been a trick. Nope, definitely something down there, he reasoned - right near the front of his porch. His fingers, remarkably deft given his age, fiddled along the seams of his thneed while he debated whether or not to go down and find out what this glittering something was.

"Awful lot of steps," he grumbled, rolling the idea around back and forth in his head. But his younger self would have none of that. "Where's your sense of adventure?" it piped up, edging him on with that tickling sense of curiosity he never was particularly capable of resisting.

Descending the narrow stairs of his home, not without one or two flourishing sighs, he set to work unlocking the mechanisms wired to his front door in criss-crossing abundance. Though he hadn't opened it in months, his hands moved quickly amongst the array of switches and complicated machinery, navigating almost as if by second nature.

And it was by this point. He'd built the damn thing after all, spent months perfecting it's design – the pressure pads had to be calibrated precisely (couldn't have the thing going off at everything that stumbled upon it, what if some animal stepped on...uh...er-wait...little late for that problem...well, it didn't hurt to be cautious anyway!). The physics of the launch had to be perfectly exact if the intruder were to end up at his window. Any mistake, any one of his mechanical arms in the wrong place at the wrong time, and...kersplat! He'd have a rather unfortunate pancake on his hands.

Giving a little chuckle, he flicked the last wire out of place.

"I'm gonna have to watch it 'fore my humor goes too far south. First I joke about threatening that poor boy, and now human pancakes! People are gonna start calling me that crazy ol' coot who lives out all by himself..."

...er...well, he guessed it's a little late for that too.

He made his way down the steps, careful to hold on to the rail. Though it would be lying to say he never left his Lerkim, for all the times he'd touched the ground outside his home, that wouldn't be far from the truth. The ruined, wind-cracked ground pushed hard against the balls of his feet when he stepped off the stairs, and made him feel more like he was walking on rocks instead of soil.

There was that flash again, caught in a twitch out of the corner of his eye. Next to the stairs, half buried in dirt already, he leaned down, was the fifteen cents he'd asked for from anyone who dared disturb his lair.

'Disturb his lair?' He shook his head. What was he, some kind of b-list movie villain now?

The trinkets he asked for were more a joke than anything else. Before the town grew so far away, back when Greenville was more than just billboards and ruins and billowing smoke, it'd become a right of passage of sorts for the neighborhood children to rush up to his Lerkim and ring the bell. This was before he'd finished the boot prototype, mind you.

He ignored them at first, knowing all too well how children could be (come to think of it, it wasn't too different from how he handled his brother's taunting – he'd hide out in his room or in the loft of the barn until they eventually grew bored and left him alone). But these children's tenacity picked like a Chinese water trap at his skull, until he finally snapped one day. He threw open his shutters (he hadn't boarded them up yet back then) and bellowed down at the offenders that he had a tree, locked up and away in his Lerkim, if they didn't have the correct offering tucked up in their pockets, he'd unleash it's leafy vengeance upon them.

He'd always been told he had a convincing voice – the mark of a good salesman. He used to wear the distinguishment proudly.

The children were absolutely terrified – having grown up never seeing a Truffala tree, and barely even knowing what one was, they ran off with their tongues full of the fantastic tale of the Once-ler and the monstrous tree at his Lerkim.

For a while, they'd left him alone. Alone to grow bitter, spending his time scratching and picking at all he'd done wrong, alone to let the wound fester inside him. Just how he liked it.

Just what he deserved.

But then children started showing up again, one by one at first, and later in hesitant groups, their trembling hands offering up the trinkets he barely remembered asking for.

They wanted to see the tree. Their parents knew of trees, and told them it wasn't a monster, and now they wanted to see it.

It wasn't time yet, and he knew it. It'd been too soon since the Lorax left. His suffering couldn't be over yet.

Thrusting his tongue in his cheek at their innocent requests, he promised he'd let them have it, but the offering wasn't enough. He needed proof. You see, he explained, a tree wasn't like other things they'd known until now. It wasn't a whosit or whatchamajig they could play with, and replace it anew if it broke.

No, a tree – this tree, in particular, he would hold out the seed – was the last of it's kind. And only those worthy could be trusted to have it.

Whomever could listen to his story, and learn from his mistakes weaved throughout its telling, would be the sole person to earn the honor.

As he expected, the children could not, neither could the adults seeking his prize after them, and fewer and fewer came over the years. No one ever heard the end of his tale.

And until the world learned from his mistakes, neither could he.

His story would be over when someone would listen.

He gave a violent shake of his head, reigning his thoughts back into the present. Braced himself with a wide stance, he begin leaning down towards the ground. His knees clicked, almost uncomfortably, as he gently lowered his long legs until he was practically kneeling in the dirt.

There was the change in front of him, a dime and two nickles, the rusted up nail, and...he paused. Something was moving. Shaking and staring up at him with weary eyes lay a shriveled up grandfather snail, already blackened by the gritty dust laced throughout the smog.

Despite the thing's dreary state, the Once-ler snorted, laughing.

"We~ll look at you! You look about as old and worn-out as I am!" The snail only blinked at his cheery voice, not seeing the humor in the situation.

Bending forward, he scooped it into his hand. "I'm just gonna assume that means you're not too fond of the weather out here. C'mon let's just get you inside. I'll give you the tour!" He smiled. His knees, having finally adjusted to the lower angle, creaked angrily as he hoisted himself back up with the help of the railing's support, gripping it through the worn felt of his gloves.

Clicking himself upright, the Once-ler made his way back up the stairs to his Lerkim. He left the door unlocked, figuring Ted wouldn't be back for a while now. And, after all, he didn't want to waste time fiddling with the lock when he had company waiting~

When he reached his room, he curved his hand above his dresser, allowing the snail to slither out onto its cracked wood surface.

"I'll make you some tea. Now I know you can't drink it, but if you huddle next to the mug, I'm sure it'll warm you up all the same." He brought the teapot down from it's hook, and scrambled around to find two mugs while the water boiled. He found one propping up the leg of a chair (...better wash that out) and joined it with his usual mug by the sink, quickly tipping the morning's leftover stale coffee in it down the drain.

"I only asked for the shell, ya know." He spoke over his shoulder as he worked. "Or, at least, I think I did. That boy didn't have to bring me the whole dang snail. Least if he did, he shoulda warned me before hand. Then you wouldn't have had to wait out there so long, getting yourself silly with dirt and dust and god knows what else's in that smog."

"I stay inside most days, myself. You ain't heard sneezing till you heard how I sound after I've been out in the thick of it for a few hours. Might as well give me a baton and let me lead the marching band down main street. The boards keep out most of the smog, but sometimes it gets so dang thick I wake up with a carpet black as all get up. Have ta sweep out the soot like stained paint. Ah – but you don't wanna hear me babble on about the weather. Here," he set the mug gently on the dresser, and watched as his guest struggled to inch towards it. He pushed it closer, giving the poor thing a smile before he collapsed into his own chair a few feet away.

A content sigh escaped when he opened his mouth to blow on his tea. Surprised at himself, his eyes widened, but a chuckled soon bubbled up from deep in his chest as the realization swept over him.

"Maybe that boy does have what it takes," he chuckled again, this time bubbling his drink and spilling some of it into his mustache. "Nowadays I don't now if it's more brave or stupid to come out here, what with that wall being built. Sure seems like whoever in there that's running the place sure as heck don't want anybody getting out. But that boy came here all the same risking...risking...risking I don't even know how much!"

He let his head fall with a smile.

"I can't say I don't envy him. I had that kind a spirit once you know, way back when." He puffed up his chest, turning towards his guest, who was listening quietly (he may have been asleep, but Once-ler continued on all the same). "Heck, you probably even know what I'm talking about – I'm sure you weren't always a great-great grandfather snail! You weren't always this...this watered down version of what you once were. I'm sure you had a right adventurous life!"

He set his mug down on the table beside him, and reached for his knitting needles. Still spouting reminiscents, he sparked up a stitch and let the needles do their work, clinking and ticking each row into place. He barely knew what he was making anymore - absolutely everything in his house with a surface already had a cozy to cover it, and, despite the mantra of his younger days, he absolutely did _not_ need anymore thneeds.

The motions were soothing, though. Repetitive. Mechanical, almost.

And entirely too familiar, the thought tugged a warm smile.

He looked over towards his friend, still shaking slightly and huddled by his drink.

And an idea struck him.

"Ah – you know what little guy, something tells me you're still chilly! And it's not like I can keep using tea to warm you up forever. Say, I bet you no one in your life ever asked you if that shell of yours needed a jacket!"

He picked up his knitting, the needles clicking faster now.

"I hope you like pink~"


End file.
